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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24932641">Almost the Full Set</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternenblumen/pseuds/sternenblumen'>sternenblumen</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Bad Things Happen Bingo [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Musketeers (2014)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Accidents, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Gen, Hurt Aramis, Hurt/Comfort, Whump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:34:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,395</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24932641</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sternenblumen/pseuds/sternenblumen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When things go wrong on a mission, Aramis has little choice but hide and trust in his friends to find him.</p><p>Written for Bad Things Happen Bingo on Tumblr, for the prompt "Dragging themselves along the ground"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aramis | René d'Herblay &amp; d'Artagnan &amp; Athos | Comte de la Fère &amp; Porthos du Vallon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Bad Things Happen Bingo [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1804447</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>62</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Bad Things Happen Bingo</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Almost the Full Set</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/gifts">Aini_NuFire</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Gifting this to Aini_NuFire since I know she loves her some Aramis whump (if this is your whump of choice, go check out her stories! They're great!). I hope you like it, my dear!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Musketeer bent low over his horse's neck, face almost in its mane, as he narrowed his eyes, trying to discern the path in the low light. He could feel the poor animal's muscles tremble beneath him and knew he had to stop and rest soon. Already, he had had to slow down considerably from the earlier headlong flight, or else he would have risked injury to his horse and himself when the forest grew denser around him. Luckily, the same applied for his pursuers, and the sounds of their calls and horses had all but ceased – he wasn't sure if he had succeeded in shaking them completely but at least he had put distance between them and him.</p><p>Aramis felt for the thick package of papers in his shirt beneath his doublet. So far, so good. It was fortunate that their Captain had had warning that someone would try to intercept them on their mission, so they had prepared for the eventuality of being separated. They each bore a package with the King's seal but he knew that his package was blank inside. So were the packages Athos and Porthos were carrying – the lot of carrying the real documents had fallen to d'Artagnan this time. He hoped that all of his brothers had escaped, naturally, but the price if their youngest was caught was the highest. And they had almost made it to their destination, too …</p><p>The marksman shook his head to dislodge the distracting thoughts. There was no use speculating on the others' fate – he had to concentrate on his own path, and hopefully they would all reach the meeting point with the courier who was to receive the documents the next day. He ruthlessly shoved down the what-if thoughts dogging his heels.</p><p>Suddenly, something small and dark darted out of the underbrush and right between his horse's hooves. The beast, already at the end of its tether, reared up, dancing on its hind legs as Aramis latched onto its mane, trying to rein it in. But whether it was the horse's fatigue or his own, whether his skills deserted him in the moment or the animal was too far gone to react to his guidance, the next moment, the reins were torn from his grip, and then he was suddenly weightless, suspended in mid-air for what seemed to last forever, before the ground came rushing at him. He landed hard and then tumbled down a slope ass over head, pain shooting through his body so relentlessly that he could barely figure out where it originated. His head hit a rock, and darkness rose around him. The last thing he knew before it swallowed him was his body rolling to a stop in an awkward sprawl, limbs akimbo.</p><p>Then he knew no more for a long time.</p>
<hr/><p>Aramis' eyes fluttered open, a groan working its way up his throat. He forced himself to halt the upward movement his body instinctively wanted to engage in and to lay still and take stock. He ached. It seemed to be everywhere, and it took some time to disentangle what was what. His head was ringing from the blow it had suffered, and he raised a hand to run it carefully over the back of his head which felt like a tonne of bricks when he raised it. There was a big lump at its back, and he flinched when his fumbling fingers pressed on it. On the plus side, his right arm was obviously in working condition. He flexed his left hand and gasped at the sharp pain in his wrist that answered the small movement. Alright, the left arm was not quite so whole … His legs were next, and it only took another small movement to tell him that his right arm was probably all he had going for him. His left leg was agony radiating from the lower leg up to the hip and down into the toes – the right was faring slightly better but also protesting any movement involving his knee.</p><p>Aramis took a moment to let the pain abate and just breathe, at the same time perking up his ears to check if he could hear anything. Had his horse run off? And what of his pursuers, had they caught up to him while he had been unconscious for however long it had been? There were no sounds beyond those common at night in the forest, bushes rustling and some bird calling in the distance.</p><p>Finally, he gathered his courage and, leaning onto his uninjured right arm, he pushed himself upright. Discomfort thrummed through him as the bruises undoubtedly painting his upper body made themselves known. Another minute to breathe, and then he clumsily patted his chest. While it awakened all sorts of pain, none of that was the sharp pain of a broken rib biting into the inside of his chest, so he hoped he had been lucky at least in that regard. Not that he was feeling lucky in any way … There was no sign of his horse, and he dared not whistle for it to return. If the men on his tail were still nearby, he would certainly reveal his location to them.</p><p>He went about checking his legs and left arm with his right and ended up determining that he had a badly sprained wrist, his right knee was dislocated, and his left lower leg was broken. Fantastic. With most of his limbs injured, he was practically immobile on the forest floor, with no horse that could help him escape and no chance of getting help since he had no idea where his brothers were, nor could he hope that anyone else was nearby who did not belong to his pursuers. As far as hopeless situations went, he did not care to imagine how it could be worse. And he could feel old ghosts starting to whisper at the back of his mind, reminding him of the last time he had been alone in a forest …</p><p>Aramis gritted his teeth and shoved back against the thoughts. He knew his brothers would come for him as soon as they could. The question was when that would be and what he could do until then. The temptation to simply lay back and fall asleep – or maybe pass out – to escape the pain of his injuries and the feeling of loneliness creeping up on him was strong. He looked around the small hollow he had landed in and up the slope he had rolled down. If he was lucky – a bold assumption right now – the riders had passed him by, not seeing the dip in the forest floor and following the trail left by his horse, but he could not be sure of it, having no idea for how long he had been laying senseless. As it was, his only protection was the shadow of the slope, the trees around him too far apart and sparse to offer much cover. That wouldn't do if they were still around or returned to search for him.</p><p>His gaze settled on a patch of brushwood between two trees a few lengths from him, and he exhaled slowly. He could crawl underneath there and be well-concealed from any spurious looks, though it might not offer much protection if someone was determined to find him. Still, it was all he had right now.</p><p>Slowly, with unending care, he turned onto his side and tried to get onto his hands and knees to make his way over. However, as soon as his weight shifted onto his right knee, his leg started screaming, and it took all of his willpower and nearly biting through his lower lip for him not to do the same. He collapsed forward onto his stomach, his left arm joining into the cacophony of his ailments when it was trapped underneath him. Aramis screwed his eyes shut, his breath coming in rapid bursts as he wrestled the pain back under control. It seemed to take ages until he could finally free his arm and now lay with his face in the soft forest soil, panting. It took even longer until he could muster the courage to try again. Shifting back onto his left knee had more pain racing up and down his leg but it was bearable – for a moment, until he moved his right arm forward and tried to follow it with the opposite leg, and the pain swelled in a horrible crescendo. This time, the part of his body that rebelled was his stomach, and he tried desperately to hold himself up as vomit punched its way up his throat and out of his mouth. At the last moment, he avoided falling into it face-first by letting himself sway and topple to the left, managing to get his arm out of the way in time. Then he lay on his side, heaving some last empty gasps, tears leaking from the edges of his eyes.</p><p>Wearily, Aramis finally raised his head to look around and think again. His situation had not changed, he still needed to get to the cover. Crawling on hands and knees was not an option, though, given his experiences right now. What else was there? He groaned as he had to admit there was only one other way he could think of right now, one that mostly required the work of his arms – he could probably use his left if he kept the wrist raised. He'd have to drag himself over the ground.</p><p>He still had so much dignity left that he did not simply flop onto his belly – and thereby into the pool of vomit – but laboriously turned onto his back and then back onto his belly on the other side. Then he took a deep breath and murmured to himself: “Get to it, Aramis!” He dug his left elbow into the earth first to test if it worked and managed to drag himself forward without his wrist touching anything. It was not graceful, nor was it painless, but bit by bit, hand over elbow, he managed to worm his way along the ground towards the promise of cover and safety. The drag marks he left behind were probably a heavenly present to any tracker who came by … He just had to trust that they were not easy to see from atop the slope, which was all he could hope for, really. If someone climbed down into the hollow, they would surely find him, drag marks or not.</p><p>By the time he made his way to the underbrush, he was trembling and his vision was swimming and darkening, starbursts of pain bursting through, and all he wanted to do was collapse. He forced himself to endure until he had dragged himself beneath the branches, though, and painfully manoeuvered around so his face was oriented towards the slope and the path atop of it, drawing his pistols and sword and laying them down at his right, ready to be taken up in a single movement.</p><p>Then he put his right hand beneath his head, resting his cheek atop it, and sighed out a last, torturous groan before he closed his eyes, and the darkness swallowed him.</p>
<hr/><p>The next time Aramis became fully aware, light filled the forest and made him wince as his eyes fluttered open. He had been dragged back to something like consciousness by pain a few times throughout the night but it never lasted long, and he was half expecting the same right now. Still, he tried again to open his eyes, squinting until they had become accustomed to the brightness. Then he lay quietly, taking stock and listening to any sounds infiltrating his impromptu hideout. His injuries still smarted but hadn't worsened, and he knew that while his throat was dry, he could stay in place for quite a while, maybe even one or two days, without being in danger. The thought sent his heart rate soaring, though, and he sent a fervent prayer to God that he would not be forced to endure this. Right now he was holding on, the early autumn forest still lush and green enough with only a few patches of red, brown and gold mixed in that he knew it was not the same. He still had to wrestle a jolt of panic down whenever he remembered that he was alone and barely able to move, and no one knew where he was.</p><p>Resisting the urge to shift which only would awaken his aches and injuries, he lay his head down again and sighed. At least his work of dragging himself into the shelter of the underbrush had paid off – he doubted the men were still nearby. Now he had to hope for the opposite, that he wasn't too well-hidden for Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan to find him. “Hurry up, please,” he murmured to himself.</p><p>He drifted, then, the unrelenting pain and discomfort keeping him from surrendering to sleep again while he was too exhausted and sore to stay fully aware. This state was not that deep that the sound of voices did not pierce through the veil, however, and he raised his head, trying to listen intently.</p><p>“--sure?”</p><p>“--course not sure but--horse tracks--” Scraps of their talk floated down to him, and he held his breath. Oh, he hoped this was not his mind playing tricks on him, or was he delirious from pain and old ghosts?</p><p>“--like a goddamn needle--haystack.”</p><p>Throwing caution to the wind, he raised his own voice: “Athos! Porthos!”</p><p>There was a short silence, then he heard the best sound in the world: His best friend's voice, calling out in relief and disbelief: “Aramis!”, and then the sound of someone crashing and sliding down the slope.</p><p>“Here!” he called again, “I'm here!” He bit down hard on his lip as he moved stiff muscles to drag himself forward a bit, out of the underbrush's protective shadow.</p><p>Heavy steps came closer and then came to a stop before him. For a moment, he only saw boots in front of his face, then Porthos dropped into a crouch to meet his eyes. “There you are!” he said happily, relief in every line of his face. “What have you done to yourself this time?”</p><p>“I'll have you know it was my horse and the earth who did it to me,” Aramis huffed indignantly but then inclined his head in concession and enumerated: “Sprained left wrist, dislocated right knee, fractured lower left leg.” He hesitated but added: “Hit my head, too, and I was unconscious for a while, so possibly a mild concussion, too.” His head was actually the least painful part right now, and he was chalking his nausea the night before up to the pain rather a concussion, but those were hard to determine in yourself.</p><p>Porthos' eyebrows had risen ever higher with each item on the list, and Athos who was coming up behind him huffed in a mixture of exasperation and some relief: “You really outdid yourself this time.”</p><p>Aramis craned his neck up to look at his oldest brother and deadpanned: “Yes, well, I'm quite disappointed I didn't get the full set.” He nodded to his uninjured right arm. “Though I think there's also an extensive collection of bruises to go with everything else. I won't go tumbling down a slope again very soon, I assure you.”</p><p>“That's good to hear,” Porthos grumbled. “We all appreciate that.” He moved to one side and gestured to Athos to take the other as he carefully took hold of Aramis' left upper arm.</p><p>“You probably won't be doing much of anything for a while besides sitting around in bed and being bored to death,” Athos said mildly while he followed Porthos' example and grasped his arm on the right.</p><p>Aramis rolled his eyes which made his head ache more – alright, he had probably been right about the concussion – and replied: “Lovely.” He steeled himself for what would come next and bit down on any sounds of pain that threatened to escape when Porthos and Athos pulled him from the shrubs and levered him upright. It was still less painful than anything he could have done on his own, he was sure, and they did their best to be as gentle as possible. They slung his arms over their shoulders, and he put down his right leg very carefully to take some of his weight to prevent all of it resting on Athos' shoulders – the difference in height between Athos and Porthos meant that he was hanging slightly lopsided between them.</p><p>They waited quietly until he had adjusted to being upright and had stopped panting as if he had run for several leagues. His head suddenly snapped up, and he asked anxiously: “d'Artagnan?”</p><p> “He's up there with the horses,” Porthos soothed him.</p><p>Aramis breathed a sigh of relief. “The mission?”</p><p>“Completed,” Athos said as he and Porthos slowly began to move and Aramis did his best to at least move his right leg with them without jarring the knee too much, keeping the broken left leg clean off the ground. “d'Artagnan had arrived at the chateau first and had already handed off the papers to the messenger before Porthos and I got there.”</p><p>Aramis nodded. “Good work. So, was I the only unlucky man who had someone on their trail?”</p><p>Porthos snorted. “No, you only were the only unlucky one who fell off his horse,” he replied. He hesitated, then added: “Though I did get lost and only got there this morning when Athos and d'Artagnan were about to leave and look for both of us.”</p><p>“I'm quite thankful you made it in time,” Athos drawled, “one needle in a haystack is bad enough.”</p><p>“You did find this needle well enough,” the marksman said with a smile. “Thank you, brothers.”</p><p>The other two Musketeers did not reply – all of them had thanked the others for similar acts, and all of them had been told that there was no need for thanks but they still kept doing it. Aramis figured they had given up on protesting for similar reasons as he had. Some things just needed to be said.</p><p>Getting up the slope was difficult and painful for the injured man, and at one point Athos had to call for d'Artagnan to come and join them to help. The young Gascon followed the call with an eagerness that clearly told of how difficult it had been for him to stay behind and look after the horses while the others went to get Aramis. The marksman suspected that d'Artagnan had to restrain himself forcefully from accosting him with an embrace but as they were balancing quite precariously on the uneven decline, he was very glad that the Gascon did manage to do so and just went to help them without comment.</p><p>Finally, they arrived up top, and Aramis felt like collapsing on the spot. The others seemed to be aware of that, and Porthos and Athos carefully lowered him to the ground while d'Artagnan rushed off and returned a moment later with a water skin he thrust at Aramis. He took it gratefully and drank from it deeply but forced himself to stop and wait if the water would settle long before his thirst was satiated.</p><p>He was aware of d'Artagnan kneeling down at his side and Athos softly relating to him what Aramis had told them about his injuries. As long as they didn't touch him, however, Aramis did not care what they did right now, concentrating on catching his breath, taking some more sips from the water skin and waiting for some of the agony accosting his legs to die down. He was brought back to more awareness by d'Artagnan's hand on his arm and his voice saying his name. </p><p>“Aramis,” the Gascon repeated, observing him with a worried frown that smoothed out slightly when he raised his eyes to meet the young man's gaze. “I think we need to set the broken leg and relocate your knee before we can go,” d'Artagnan said uncomfortably. “Or do you think it's better to leave them until we're somewhere a physician can care for you?”</p><p>Aramis smiled grimly. “No, you're right,” he said, “the pain will far more manageable once everything is back where it belongs.” He did not look forward to it but it had to be done. While d'Artagnan had already proven an adept student in field medicine, he had little experience with broken bones as of yet. But Porthos and Athos were here, too, and had their fair share of experience in this regard.</p><p>d'Artagnan bit his lip worriedly but finally nodded, steeling himself, and got to his feet. “Porthos, can you find some sticks to splint his leg?” he requested. He fetched his medic satchel from his horse and returned to sort through it and ready a pile of bandages at Aramis' side. Then he held out a small flask of brandy to him. “Since we don't need it for any of your injuries, you may as well use it,” he smirked. “As impressive as they are, at least you did good work keeping this bloodless, for once.”</p><p>The marksman snorted and snatched the flask out of his hand. “We'll speak about that again when you come off your horse during a chase through a dark forest,” he replied, pointing it at the young man, then opened the flask and took a large swallow, relishing the burn down his throat.</p><p>“Pfft.” d'Artagnan only gave him an obnoxious grin, as if the idea of him falling off his horse was too ridiculous to contemplate, and Aramis rolled his eyes – ouch – and took another drink. Already he could feel some of the edges of the pain dull as the alcohol filled him with a subtle warmth.</p><p>Before long, Porthos was back with two sturdy pieces of a branch, and d'Artagnan looked them over with a satisfied nod. He then waved over both Porthos and Athos, positioning them to hold Aramis down while he knelt down next to his legs. “Ready?” he asked the injured man. Aramis took a deep breath and nodded – he was as ready as he'd ever be.</p><p>“On three,” d'Artagnan said, and Aramis braced himself. “One – two – three!” Pain burst from his leg and overwhelmed his vision, his mind, his body … For a moment, it was everything, and the rest of the world came back to him only slowly. He was aware of a large hand stroking his hair, of a deep voice murmuring something – he did not understand the words but the tone was soothing, comforting. Finally, he blinked his eyes open, tears clinging to his lashes and breaking the light into a kaleidoscope of colours. Porthos' face appeared over him, upside-down, and the brawler asked: “There, you back with us?”</p><p>Aramis nodded weakly. He raised his head until he could see d'Artagnan down by his legs and waved at him. “Go on,” he rasped, his voice rough and throat dry. He wanted to have this over with, delaying the inevitable would only make it hurt worse.</p><p>Porthos caught his head as he let it fall back again and lowered him carefully to the ground while there was quite some discussion between d'Artagnan and Athos he didn't follow. All that counted was that a bit later, one of them touched his hand and said. “All right, Aramis, here we go. On three. One – two – three!”</p><p>His other leg exploded in pain, and Aramis jerked upwards, throwing his head back. Strong hands held him down as he tried to escape, and he thrashed blindly. Maybe he was screaming, but he could not hear it himself over the ringing in his ears.</p><p>Sometime later he came back to himself, throat and head aching, but it was an improvement that he could actually feel this over the pain in his leg which was simmering down to a manageable level. Porthos was still at his side, stroking his hair, and he rolled his eyes upwards to meet his gaze. “Water?” he asked breathlessly.</p><p>Porthos nodded quickly, and a moment later a water skin appeared and was carefully held to his lips. He only took a few sips but they soothed his throat, and he sank back with a thankful sigh.</p><p>d'Artagnan reached for his hand to give it a squeeze and said: “It's over, you did it.” While the young Musketeer got to work bandaging both lower limbs, Athos got up and moved so he could kneel down opposite of Porthos, laying a gentle hand on Aramis' shoulder. “We'll rest a while so you can recover,” he told him. “What do you think how much time you need?”</p><p>“Athos, that's not fair!” Porthos protested but Aramis put a hand on his arm – or at least attempted to; he actually ended up patting weakly at the front of Porthos' doublet. “It's alright, Porthos,” he told him. Directed at Athos, he said: “d'Artagnan should have some of the powder for a pain draught – have him make me one, please. After that, I'll need to sleep for a bit, and then we can go. Two hours, maybe?”</p><p>Athos nodded and patted his shoulder. “I'm sorry, my friend,” he said, “but even if the mission is no longer pressing, we should get back to Paris. I'm sure you will recover better in a bed than camping on the forest floor, too.”</p><p>“Quite likely, yes. No need to apologise, I understand,” Aramis replied.</p><p>d'Artagnan joined the other two and handed Porthos a cup. “How are you doing?” he asked the injured man.</p><p>Aramis gave him a smile, even if it did not reach its usual brightness. “I'm alright and happy you've turned out such an adept pupil. Finish up with this one, please?” He gestured towards the sprained wrist.</p><p>“Of course,” d'Artagnan nodded. By the time he had wrapped the limb firmly with a bandage, Porthos had made the marksman drink the draught, and Aramis was blinking sleepily up at his brothers gathered around him.</p><p>“Sleep, Aramis,” Athos ordered, “we'll be here when you wake up, and we'll take you home then.”</p><p>Aramis nodded, his eyes heavy with fatigue. “I know. You always do.” And secure in this knowledge, he breathed out, closed his eyes and let sleep claim him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Whoo boy, this is very indulgent and whumpy - I think I've never spent so much time and details on the injuries and pain over the hurt/comfort. Oh well.</p><p>I hope you enjoyed! If you did, please show it 🥰. (I'm very bad at replying to comments these days but rest assured that I read and cherish every one of it! As I do every kudos or bookmark &lt;3.)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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